Like Rocks Under Tide
by htbthomas
Summary: Quentin knows. Of course he knows, he's a detective, for Chrissake. But it's safer for everyone if he pretends he doesn't. On the other hand, his new partner—young, driven and ambitious—she doesn't know. And Quentin is going to do his damnedest to make sure she never does.


The voice crackles through the radio. "Confirmed vigilante sighting at First and Park Street. Copy."

Maggie sweeps the handset off the dash and hits the button. "Copy." She glances at Quentin, and he gives her a short nod. "Hold him there. We're ten minutes out. And send for backup. Over." Then she punches the gas and the squad car takes off, tires squealing.

Quentin simply grabs for the handle above the window. "Think we're gonna get him this time?" he asks.

"His luck has to run out some time," Maggie says, taking a left turn a little too fast. "And we're due for some."

That's what Quentin's afraid of. He slips a hand into his pocket, presses the button on the device he's been carrying for weeks. He doesn't know what it does, only that when it's turned on, Felicity Smoak can track him, and hear any conversations within a ten yard radius. She might even be able to hack into the car's systems or control the radio… what she does and how she does it is still a mystery. Just one of the mysteries he's been trying to keep.

He looks over at Maggie again, filled with fiery determination. He recognizes that look—he used to see it on his own face every morning. She's going to catch The Arrow or die trying.

The radio crackles to life again. "Suspect has changed direction, heading down Park on a motorcycle, toward Central Avenue. Car 72, what's your twenty?"

Quentin picks up the receiver just as the Central Avenue street sign flashes in the car's headlights. "On Central Avenue, heading north. No visual confirmation yet." Maggie puts on a little more speed. All Quentin can hope is that Felicity is putting their whereabouts through to The Arrow. Maybe if he ditches the bike, he can disappear into one of the abandoned buildings around here.

"There!" Maggie calls out. A single headlight approaches from the other side of the street. "We've got him."

"Confirmed visual, suspect heading south on Central. Moving to engage." Quentin tries to stay professional, to keep the worry from his voice. Smoak better be listening.

All of a sudden, the bike makes a hard right in front of them, down a side street. Maggie follows, screaming across several lanes of traffic, horns blaring after them. "In pursuit!" he reports, then lets go of the talk button to shout, "Careful, Byrne!"

All she does is roll her eyes. "Yes, Dad." The bike takes a left, and they're right behind it, close enough to see the recurve bow strapped to the back of his leather jacket. She flips on the siren and cocks her gun.

"A gun?" Never mind that Quentin once used a whole SWAT team to try to capture The Arrow. "Are we trying to catch him or kill him?"

She doesn't answer, just rolls down the window and fires off a warning shot. At least he hopes it's a warning shot. The bullet glances off a lamppost, ringing in the night air. The Arrow swerves in the other direction, peeling around a corner into a blind alley. Maggie shoots Quentin a triumphant smile. "We've got him now."

Ahead of them, they see the bike discarded on its side, a shadowy figure scaling a fire escape at the other end. Maggie pulls over beside it, leaping out of the car. "Halt!" she calls out, firing off another shot. It pings on the metal below The Arrow's boot.

Quentin winces. He has to stop this, somehow. Nothing good will come of The Arrow's arrest. Quite the opposite. "Maggie! Don't you want to wait for backup?"

"Oh! That reminds me," she says, hooking her foot in the bottom rung of the ladder and starting to climb. "Call in our location," she tosses over her shoulder and then scurries upward.

Quentin sighs in frustration. She's like a dog with a bone. He knows the Arrow can handle himself against one lone detective, but does Maggie know that? As he reaches for his phone, it buzzes in his pocket. It's Felicity. "Lance," he says, just in case Maggie can still hear him from above.

"Detective," she says quickly. "There's something wrong with The Arrow's ear piece—I can't reach him. His tracker seems to be malfunctioning as well."

"Great." Quentin looks up. Maggie is gaining on the vigilante somehow.

"I've scrambled the radio signals, but there's a police chopper only a few blocks away," Felicity continues. "They're homing in on your car's GPS."

Quentin swears under his breath. "I hope the cavalry's on its way, then."

"It is, but I don't know if they're gonna get there before your department does. I'm trying to override the GPS signal, but it may be too late."

She isn't kidding; Quentin can hear the sound of the helicopter approaching. Is this the night The Arrow's luck runs out? "Do what you can, then," he says and ends the call. Shoving the phone back in his pocket, he hops onto the ladder and starts to climb, his muscles protesting before he reaches the halfway point. He can't see either of them anymore, but he doesn't hear gunshots either.

When he does finally get close enough, he hears Maggie's voice. "Just put the bow down, nice and slow."

"I don't want to hurt you, Detective Byrne." The Arrow's using the voice modulator, as usual. "Just let me go."

Quentin pops his head over the concrete edge to see a standoff: Maggie on one side, walking with slow, measured steps, gun raised. The Arrow paces her, arrow to bowstring, but relaxed, not taut. Somehow, as strange as it seems, The Arrow seems nervous.

"Can you disarm me before I disarm you?" Maggie says, raising an eyebrow. "I'm a pretty good shot, too."

She's an excellent shot. Quentin knows the shots Maggie fired in pursuit were simply in warning. If Maggie had wanted to, she could have already taken out The Arrow. By some miracle, she's kept to the letter of the law. But he hasn't worked with her long enough to know if that's by design or not.

"I'm not your enemy, Detective. I'm just trying to help the city in my own way." The Arrow cocks his head toward Quentin, hovering on the ladder. "Ask your partner. We've worked together many times."

Quentin runs a hand through his hair. He wishes The Arrow hadn't brought that up. "Yeah, well, it was—"

"And got himself demoted, injured, thrown in jail, and attacked for his trouble," Maggie interrupts. "Vigilante justice is _not_ the way to save this city, Arrow, no matter how effective you may think it is."

Suddenly the chopper is close, so close that the wind whips around him and he has to grasp the metal rungs tightly to keep from falling. He strains to hear their conversation over the sound of the whirring blades. But where is it?

His phone buzzes again in his pocket, but he ignores it. He can't afford to be distracted, not for a second. He pulls himself onto the rooftop and draws his own gun, leveling it at the vigilante, just for Maggie's benefit. The Arrow knows Quentin is on his side.

"Give yourself up!" Maggie shouts over the racket. "You'll get a fair trial."

"I'd rather take my chances with you than the legal system."

At that moment, the chopper rises into view, directly behind The Arrow. And in the blink of an eye, he turns and shoots an arrow at the propeller blades. They start to jutter and malfunction, but the pilot manages to safely land on the rooftop.

Maggie doesn't wait for the SWAT team to emerge. Without batting an eye. she targets the vigilante's compound bow. The bullet hits the metal just above the grip, and the bow goes flying from his gloved hands. The Arrow cries out in anger and alarm. Maggie slowly approaches him, gun still trained on him.

Quentin follows behind her. Even without his bow, The Arrow is far from helpless. But something seems off. Why has he not fled the scene? "C'mon, Smoak," Quentin murmurs under his breath. "Where's that cavalry?" He takes the risk, switching his gun to one hand and checking his phone with the other. There's a text from Felicity.

_Found him. He's injured but safe. Thanks for the help._

"Wha—?" He looks at the hooded man crouching cat-like before them. If Oliver Queen is safe, then who…? Maggie reaches forward to whip the hood back.

The wavy brown hair is all too familiar, the mask not disguising the facial features well enough without the hood and voice modulator. Quentin lowers his gun, stunned. "What the hell… Laurel?"\

* * *

**Note: **In case you know Maggie, but didn't know her history, she started out in Star(ling) City before moving to Metropolis and Gotham. After all, Quentin needs a new partner now that he's a detective again! And since this is pre-marriage and divorce, I decided to name her after her comics creator.


End file.
